


hands on your waist, arms around your shoulders

by crowkiiing



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Other, its 5.2K of miragehound dancing, mirage teaches bloodhound how to dance but hes a dork and is nervous, sorta. its mostly talk but WHILE they're dancing, this is soft bc im gay and want love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25657075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowkiiing/pseuds/crowkiiing
Summary: “So… what I’m hearing is that you don’t know how to dance.”Bloodhound’s head snaps to him, and Elliott can feel their gaze, even behind the deep, dark pools of their goggles, boring into him. He gulps. He’s been on the end of that stare multiple times, especially when they’re two steps away from slicing through some important artery, but damn, if it doesn’t do things. “Uh, bad phrasing? Bad timing? Bad thing to bring up? Man, I should stop talking.”“... No. You are right, I do not know how to dance,” they nod, turning back to the counter.Alternatively, Elliott offers to show Bloodhound how to dance, and... things ensue in a turn of events that Elliott quite likes.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	hands on your waist, arms around your shoulders

“I’m not dancing.”

Oooo, okay. Okay, Elliott knows that type of tone. Bloodhound’s taken it to him multiple times before, when they’re chastising him in the ring. Their tone has always been firm, steady, but Elliott considers himself to be a man of many talents, and that’s getting _something_ else out of their voice. Like a small touch of amusement - you know, the tiny things, the little things. 

“Is this one of those things people always pull with me where they saw they’re not gonna do it, but they actually mean that they will? Hidden meaning, that sorta thing?”

“No,” Bloodhound says, looking away from him. They’re seated at one of the counters tucked away in the corner of the Mirage Voyage, rather close in proximity to a decoy leaning its hip against the counter. Even facing away from him, he can see the glitter of a decoy in the reflection of their goggles, a smidge of light blue in the darkness of the lenses.

“What’s the problem with dancing? I mean, if it’s a problem of not knowing how to dance, that’s no problem! In addition to being one of the most handsome guys of the Outlands,” he does a little spin. “I happen to be _quite_ skilled in dancing. You know, one of those talents of mine people never expect, that sorta thing.”

Bloodhound doesn’t seem to be interested. Instead, they twist in their chair, lifting their head. Elliott follows their gaze, only to see them studying a decoy in the distance, right next to the hot tub, kicking his feet out and in and shaking his arms back and forth. 

“Quite skilled, I see,” Bloodhound says, voice dry with amusement. “Is it really a hidden talent if you allow for it to be seen, Mirage?”

Elliott huffs out a breath. “That’s not an actual demonstuh-demonstrat-demonh-duh- _show_ of my talent! I’ve got a bunch of things underneath my wing - lemme tell you, that is _not_ slow-dancing.”

“I figured that much, yes.”

Elliott opens his mouth to reply, but something in his brain slams on the brakes and his thoughts come screeching to a stop. He squints at them, then, at the way they’re studying his decoy from head to toe. “You figured?”

A pause. Two. 

“You’ve never seen slow-dancing before,” Elliott says, his grin growing. “Who would’ve figured that the greatest hunter in all the Outlands wouldn’t know how to dance? I mean, people have seen you slit, like, a dozen throats per week, but _dancing_?”

“The games have not hosted a ball event or anything similar to that,” Bloodhound says, and Elliott imagines them flushing underneath that mask of theirs. Not that he’s seen their face underneath it or whatever. Nope. Not yet, anyway. But he can’t exactly pretend that he hasn’t imagined it. Do they blush a lot? Ah, wait, they’re talking- “So I doubt we would need to know how to dance.”

“So… what I’m hearing is that you don’t know how to dance.”

Bloodhound’s head snaps to him, and Elliott can feel their gaze, even behind the deep, dark pools of their goggles, boring into him. He gulps. He’s been on the end of that stare multiple times, especially when they’re two steps away from slicing through some important artery, but damn, if it doesn’t do things. “Uh, bad phrasing? Bad timing? Bad thing to bring up? _Man,_ I should stop talking.”

“... No. You are right, I do not know how to dance,” they nod, turning back to the counter. One gloved hand pulls from their folded arms to trace across the knife they have laid out against the counter. The slow, steady way their fingers drift across the blade is enough for Elliott to hope that it’s not a threat. “And that is why I will not dance with you despite your requests.”

“So if I taught you how to dance, you’d be fine with it?”

Bloodhound’s silent for a few seconds. Elliott swears he feels the sweat rolling down his neck, the tight knot of butterflies in his stomach. No biggie, just signs that he’s _this_ close to losing it and tripping all over his words due to a crush (ugh, that sounds so… middle-schooly) that he’s been harboring for over two months. 

“Perhaps, yes.”

“I’m gonna have to get a full affirmative. But I’m tellin’ you, Hound, I’m good at this!”

“... Yes, I’d like you to teach me how to dance.”

“Oh, we’re going to you _wanting_ me to teach you how to dance? I didn’t know you liked me that much.”

“I will rescind that request, Mirage.”

“All right, all right, take it easy,” he lifts his hands in surrender. “Seriously, though, I’m good at this. You’re in good hands! I know how to dance! C’mere.”

Bloodhound does not budge. Instead, they set their knife to the side before taking out another, laying it out beside the first. Then a third. Elliott sends up a silent thank you that they’re kind enough _not_ to stab him in the ribs while they’re trying to waltz. 

Romantic, he knows. 

Elliott offers out a hand, an invitation for Bloodhound to take it like they’re in some… fantasy alternative universe or whatever. However, against all imagined realities, Bloodhound does not take it. 

“Uh… Solace to Hound?”

“Yes?”

“Are we gonna dance, or what?”

Bloodhound doesn’t answer at first. Then, they cock their head: “I would prefer privacy.”

“Last time I checked,” Elliott shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s on the Mirage Voyage. Uh, Bangs is out with Wattson and Lifeline, and Crypto does his whole secretive hacking thing, so I’m _pretty_ sure he’s nowhere around here. I mean, c’mon, Hound, you think I would invite someone else on here while we’re _bonding?_ ” While he’s trying to flirt, but no one needs to know that part. 

Bloodhound considers it. “I meant something else.”

“Something else?” Elliott echoes. Then, he follows their gaze (can he call it gaze? It’s still a gaze when they’re looking through goggles, right?) to one of the holograms, dancing his heart away and shaking his hips. 

“You… you, uh, realize they’re holograms, right, Hound? Like, I know my work is fantastic and all, but, uh. Holograms. Not real.” 

He makes it a point to walk over to the one at the edge of the bar, leaning its arm against the counter and making finger guns at whoever would pass by. Elliott passes a hand through the decoy, and it fizzles away seconds later, disappearing into blue-white pixels. An instant later, as he moves his hand away, it comes back to life, aiming a finger gun right at Elliott’s chest.

“Holograms.”

“I’m well aware of your life’s work, Mirage,” Bloodhound says, resuming traces of the blade on the counter. “But I am… not exactly sure how we are supposed to dance with them around.”

“I mean, it’s pretty easy,” Elliott shrugs a shoulder. “Just avoid them. Like, we’re gonna be dancing a little past that hot tub over there, but-” 

Then it hits him. He turns towards Bloodhound, sticking his hands inside his jeans as he raises a curious eyebrow. 

“Are you embarrassed, Houndie?”

When they don’t answer right away, he knows he’s hit the nail on the coffin. His grin grows. 

“Aw, you are embarrassed! The greatest hunter of the Outlands, afraid to be seen with the most charming guy across the galaxies? Even by his holograms? I never figured you to be shy, Hound.”

Bloodhound makes a little noise, one that he would deem frustration. Elliott slides a bit closer, wiggling his eyebrows and his grin wide as he leans on the counter next to them, balancing his elbow there. 

“C’mon, admit it,” he croons. “You’re shy!”

“You are-” Bloodhound seems to bite their tongue, silencing what they were going to say. 

“Are?”

“Are you expecting a compliment?”

“Normally that’s what people have to say about me, so yeah. What?” He gives them another crooked grin, one that he hopes is charming. “You got bad stuff to say about me?”

They pause then, hands stilling on the counter. 

“Quite the opposite. You are an extraordinary man.”

Okay. Wow. Drop that on him. Okay! Let’s try and pretend like his heart didn’t just speed up or anything.

Elliott remembers that his tongue is supposed to work and that words are supposed to come out of his mouth. When he does, he coughs into his elbow. “Right! Right! Extraorduh-extruh-extrick-yeah. Yeah.”

He figures he should start… this off. Sticking his hand out, palm up, Elliott offers the hunter his hand. A clear invitation. 

Bloodhound stares at his hand for a moment, two. Then, carefully, they peel off their gloves, laying them out beside them. Their hands are slender, but evidently a hunter’s hands - wrenched and twisted with scars over their knuckles. But the most notable part about their hands is the scars - shaped like cracked glass, spider-like tendrils stretching over their skin in dark veins. 

Elliott catches himself staring before they move their hand into his, a steady warmth that he takes note of immediately. It’s almost unbelievable how warm their skin is against his. Slowly, he folds his fingers over there, giving a slight tug and guiding them away from the counter. 

Okay. They took off their gloves. No biggie. Again, ignoring the total skyrocket with his pulse right now.

Bloodhound follows after him, but he notices the hesitation to their step - something he would never come to associate with them. And then he realizes: they’re still looking at one of the decoys over his shoulder. 

“All right, all right, easy,” he says. “I’ll get rid of them.”

With a snap he hopes comes off as cool and a ‘Party time’s over’ declared, a wave of rainbow lights wash over the room, then fade away. And with it, the decoys disappear. They all give simultaneous winks and waves at open air before they fizzle away.

“That better?”

Bloodhound hums, a vibration that Elliott swears he _feels_ more than he hears. “Quite. Thank you.”

“Uh. Yeah. Just…”

He forgot the music. 

He forgot the _music._ The lights, the atmosphere, everything. Elliott swallows, almost regretting him taking their hand. 

“Lemme uh… get the mood going?”

“The…” Bloodhound trails off. Even with their goggles and mask on, he vaguely gets the notion of confusion from them. He pulls his hand from theirs, and their fingers curl around empty air as Elliott hurries away, ducking behind the bar to where he has a control panel for the party area.

It’s labeled as **PARTY TIME** , which he had turned off a few seconds earlier. He makes sure to hit the decoy switch to off, mumbles a ‘Party time’s on’, and waits until the wave of rainbow lights passes over him. Then, he fumbles with several buttons and knobs, letting the lights go from a white-blue to an easy orange as some elevator music plays in the background. 

Elevator music’s good for dancing, right?

When he hops up behind the bar again, Bloodhound is still waiting patiently. It feels… almost odd, in a way, the way they stare into him from behind their goggles, but it’s a face Elliott has come to consider not only a great teammate in the ring, but a friend. 

A friend that, hopefully, if he plays his cards right and doesn’t play tricks (as he normally does with a deck of cards. Get it? Because- ah, nevermind), will be more than that. 

He falls into line next with them, then reaches out and takes their hand again. It’s just as warm as it was a minute ago. _Of course it is; that’s how hands work, Elliott. Sure, you like to make everything about you, but-_

“So,” Elliott starts, trying to fill the air with silence to drown out his own thoughts. He tends to do that a lot, he’s noticed. Speak louder and pretend like that noise will push the waves of crippling depression and doubt back. “You never were… a dancer?”

“No,” Bloodhound’s voice sounds something close to amused. “Is that an issue?”

“Nope. It means I get to spend my time teaching an absolutely _lovely_ person how to dance. You know, like those romance novels.”

Uh oh. Bad thing to say?

However, Bloodhound does not seem perturbed by the words. Elliott pulls them out in front of the bar, in the space in between the hot tub and the bar. He feels an ungodly amount of sweat on his neck, heat to his face, and he knows that it isn’t the hot tub causing it. 

He glides to a stop, pulling them so they’re in front of him rather than next to him. Bloodhound is only an inch or two shorter, so they have to tilt their head up in the slightest to look at him while Elliott has to crane his head down. 

They’re gazing at him almost questioningly, and Elliott remembers that this is meant to be him _teaching_ them, not staring longingly at them like he’s in some sort of music video. So, he coughs and clears his throat. 

“Right! Uh! So, uh, do you know anything? Like anything, anything. Even those really old steps like… the box step? Or the foxtrot?”

Their head tilts the same way it does when they’re in the ring and considering ammo.

“No. My föðurbróðir… my uncle was not… a dancing man. Dancing was a popular activity within the ranks of my brethren, but I was not allowed to join them.”

“Well, where’s the fun in that? Sounds like your uncle was a spoilsport.”

The silence draws on too long for Elliott to be comfortable with it. He clears his throat. “I mean, in a good way! If there’s a good way for someone to be a spoilsport? Maybe he was just… uh, firm? Strict?”

“Strict would be correct, yes,” Bloodhound replies, but there’s an edge to their tone that hadn’t been there prior. “He was a teacher to me. I spent many of my years trying to slatra a beast for his approval.” 

“Oh,” is all Elliott says, like some sort of genius. He clears his throat, and Bloodhound’s clearly done with the conversation too. “Well, let’s start with some old-fashioned box step, then! I’m gonna make you do the… uh, forward step, I guess? The more compluh-complick-compleh-the harder part, I’ll keep for me. I mean, I’m insanely talented, so it’s no biggie. All right, so put a hand on my shoulder.”

They do, and Elliott slips a hand underneath their arm. They’re not exactly dressed _completely_ different to their look in the arena, but they had done him a favor and removed a lot of the extra gear that they wear over their chest and shoulders. But even through their gear, he can feel their body warmth, and he’s pretty sure they’ve noticed the intense amount of heat radiating off him. 

“Mirage,” Bloodhound prompts, and Elliott remembers that he’s supposed to teach them. 

“Uh! Right! What’d I say? Box step?”

“Yes.”

“Man,” Elliott mulls. “You really make me speechless, huh?”

“Perhaps,” there’s a little lightness to their voice, something borderline amusement. He takes that as a win. “But the box step, Mirage. Continue.”

“Right, right, right. So, hand out like this. Yup, just like that. Gotcha.” Their hands are still linked. Try _not_ to lose your coolness, Elliott. “All right, step forward.”

He guides them through the movements. Bloodhound dances like they kill - cleanly, accurately, and with so much precision in their built body (nope, not like he’s been looking or anything). They pick up on it pretty easily, moving through the steps as Elliott guides them through the steps. 

“You’re pretty good at this,” Elliott comments. “Could’ve been convinced that you completely knew what you were doing.”

“Hm,” is what Bloodhound says in response. They continue like that, easing through the steps before Bloodhound slips their hand from his shoulder and place it on his chest. “Stop.”

Elliott does, but his heart definitely doesn’t. Instead, it does the exact opposite and speeds up. 

“Stopping. Stopped. What’s up?”

Bloodhound seems to be thinking something over. But their hand hasn’t moved from his chest, where the flat of their palm is right over his heart, and Elliott swears that they can feel it fluttering underneath their fingertips. 

“I was under the impression that slow-dancing was not… necessarily steps.”

“I mean, some of it is, some of it isn’t. There’s a bunch of steps, then there’s some… uh, genres, I guess? That aren’t steppy?”

“Will you show me those? Many of the books I had read had given me the idea that slow-dancing was… not quite orchestrated steps.”

“I mean, I can, I guess, but there’s really not much to- oh-” The last word comes out as an embarrassing squeak, and Elliott wants to _sink_ through the floor right now. Bloodhound had shifted their hands from his chest (which is distracting enough as it is. Elliott knows he’s attractive, and he works out, so he has a lot going for him in that… general area, but that had been enough for his mouth to go dry) to his waist, settling them there. 

They tilt their head up at him as if to gauge their reaction, and Elliott’s going to be surprised if they manage to pick apart anything besides him being _immensely_ flustered. Thank you to whatever spiritual being is out there - hell, Bloodhound’s gods for the fun of it - for his complexion being dark enough that a light blush isn’t that obvious. 

Later along the line, though… well, that’s for an Elliott further down to deal with. Not him. Man, he sounds like Wraith. 

“Mirage?”

“Yes?”

“You are stiff.”

“Stiff? I mean, yeah, yeah! Uh. It’s a… a ritual! For dancing, I mean.”

From their respirator, there’s something that sounds like a tinkling laugh. “A ritual, hm?”

“Ritual! Yes! Obviously! It’s over now, though, so I can relax,” he tries to let the tension loose in his shoulders, make it dissolve and disappear. It’s hard to do with their hands on his waist and them close enough that he can vaguely smell the scent of the earth on them. And… uh? Something else he can’t exactly place. Maybe something like a waterfall? Waterfall sounds about right. 

“You’ll have to show me that ritual sometime,” Bloodhound says, amusement light in their tone, and Elliott wants to _die_ ; that’s so embarrassing. 

“Yup!” He nearly squeaks out. “Gotcha. Sometime. Just. Not today?”

“That is fine.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Elliott is this close to following it up with some witty one-liner or a pick-up line, but Bloodhound seems to want to take the first step this time. With their hands on his hips, they start swaying back and forth, guiding him through slow, easy motions. 

“Okay,” Elliott says, and his voice wavers. “I’m just. Gonna. Place my arms here ‘cause that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re slow-dancing, and I know we’re just friends-” God, how he wishes it were otherwise. “So, uh, don’t look too deeply into it? Like, it’s totally a coincink-coincidence or anything that my heart’s beating really fast-”

Bloodhound makes a noise that he could only describe as a chuckle behind their mask, a light thing. _Nice. One for Elliott, even if I’m making a fool outta myself for it._ But he lifts his arms to wrap it around their neck, over their shoulders, cradling them close, and _wow,_ this is really starting to feel like a… not just friends situation. 

Is he reading too far into it? Probably. Will he stop himself? Absolutely not; his brothers always teased him for being a bit of a big romantic.

“What was that observation about your heart being too fast?” Bloodhound asks, and Elliott moves to bury his head into their shoulder. 

“I told you it’d be a coincidence!”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he can _imagine_ the little smile underneath their mask. “I cannot necessarily tell from here. But since you mentioned it…”

“Trying to keep my reputation together here, Hound.”

“Very well.”

They keep rocking back and forth. Elliott is not exactly sure what makes this _slow-dancing_ besides the rocking back and forth, but Bloodhound seems to be content with it, letting them guide each other. Elliott’s hands are still around their neck, and in any other situation, Elliott would’ve lost his shit, but he’s… thinking. 

Yeah, terrible, he knows. Thinking, the horror of everything scary! But the gentle way Bloodhound’s holding him, with their (bare. important detail, bare) hands against his waist… even with their mask on, they’re close, closer than they’ve ever been to him before. And that’s saying a _lot,_ since both of them are _sorta_ in a death match and have to pick each other up whenever they’re on the same team. 

And the last time Elliott had picked Bloodhound up, they had been gasping, writhing. Props on Bangalore for having enough nerve to shoot Bloodhound while they have Beast of the Hunt activated, a vicious, primal thing, and it had ended in her death. But now, once the waves of their ability had washed over them, Bloodhound had ended up in a pool of their own blood. 

Elliott had quickly shuffled over to them and pulled out the last of his sygrines, not even bothering to shove it into their hands. Instead, he had grabbed at their wrist and jammed it in. Bloodhound had tried to get up then sagged, letting him do the work. 

“Takk,” they had said then, with a thankful nod. And they had touched his wrist then, another quiet thank you, the gentlest touch they’ve given to him in the games. 

Yeah, Elliott had been thinking of that for the days following. Sue him. He’s an overthinker, can you blame him?

But they had done it so gently, so carefully, a skimming touch of their gloved fingers across his wrist and forearm before they had gotten up. And-

“Mirage?”

“Yup?” Elliott feels like he’s barely there, responding, still stuck in his circle of thoughts. The next words just come tumbling out. “Y’know, you can call me Elliott.”

“May I?” 

“I mean, I figured since… I thought that slow-dancing together would promote you to first-name basis. That’s what I was thinking, anyway.”

“Very well,” Bloodhound says. “Well, Elliott, may I ask you a question?”

“Hit me with it.”

“I do not know why you would want to teach me how to dance,” Bloodhound says, and _wow,_ their mouth is close to his ear. Uh. When did that happen? “I do not think there is a need for dancing in the ring.”

“For fun?” Elliott suggests, mind blanking and going for the first excuse that comes to the surface. He curses himself when his voice wavers at the end. You’re supposed to be confident, Elliott. 

“For fun,” Bloodhound says, clearly mulling over the words. He can feel their breath, even through the respirator, on the crook on his neck. “And here I thought I had read your intentions correctly.”

“My intentions?”

“Flirtations, if you will.”

And like the self-acclaimed genius he is, Elliott’s response is on par with his intelligence. 

“Uh.”

He panics. 

“You thought I was flirting with you?”

 _Yikes._ Smooth going, Elliott. If his plan was going to be revealed, he really wishes it was in a smoother way. Bloodhound pauses then, pulling back from where they had been close to his jaw and ear, almost leaning back. Their head cants to the side. 

“Were you not?”

“I mean, I was, but-” Elliott inhales, taking his lip between his teeth and chewing. “Uh.”

“But?” Bloodhound’s watching him, he can tell. Almost waiting for something. 

“But…” Elliott says, only to trail off. “Uh. I’ve got nothing.”

“I was not expecting anything. I simply wanted confirmation.”

“On… me flirting with you?”

“... Yes.”

“Well,” Elliott laughs then, a nervous bout of it. “There you have it! I’ve been trying to flirt with you. It’s great to have a confession from the guy himself, yeah?”

“It is good, yes.”

Silence. Elliott’s a talkative guy, and he’s never hated a silence as much as he hates this one. 

“So, uh, is that flirting… y’know, welcomed, or?”

“Hm?”

Elliott nearly coughs because he feels something get caught in his throat. “The flirting! Is it welcomed! Are you okay with it, that sorta thing. Are you into it? Well, not ‘into’ it; it’s a weird way of pruh-prah-preh- _asking_ it.”

Again, the silence makes Elliott want to _die._ Usually, people would clamber into his arms if he had confessed to flirting with them, but Bloodhound’s just standing there with their hands on his waist and in silence. 

“I see,” they say after a while, and Elliott notes a little weakness to their voice, even with the voice modulator. _Score? Maybe?_ “Well, I would like to inform you that I… do not mind you flirting with me.”

“I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and ask if that ‘do not mind’ is secretly code for you being interested in me?”

Sometimes Elliott regrets his lack of filter, but in this moment, if it’s going to get him somewhere with Bloodhound… yeah, he’ll take it. 

“... yes. I am interested in you. In a romantic sense.”

Elliott nearly freezes. He doesn’t know where to go from there, but he’s pretty sure his heart is pounding in his ears, and all he can manage to get out is a, “R-Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re actually-” He blinks several times, taken aback. Something in his chest is fluttering, the tell-tale sign of glee and an emotion Elliott’s labeled as _Yes!_ spreading through his own body. “Seriously? You’re interested? Like, that’s- that’s! That’s fantuh-fantaze-fantsuh… that’s great! That’s way more than great! That’s like, the best way this day could go!”

Bloodhound chuckles then, a quiet thing, a rare thing that Elliott can’t help but smile at, the corners of his mouth crooking and a slant of teeth. 

“Y’know, this… just. Really makes this whole dancing thing a lot more romantic.”

“Was this one of your plans?” Bloodhound asks, and he tells his head to the side, confused, so they continue. “You are a man of many tricks and plans. I was wondering if this was one of the many, this… dancing.”

“What? No! I was just…” Elliott trails off. “On second thought, you _might’ve_ caught me there.”

You can’t blame him! If he is being honest, he had orchestrated this entire thing for some… bonding time with Bloodhound. They’ve hung out before- Bloodhound’s even cooked for him! He’s made his pork chops for them! Granted, they had thanked him and taken them to the privacy of their own room, so Elliott never really got the chance to see the look of wonder on their face that his pork chops usually cause, but… they liked them! That’s what they said at the time, anyway. 

Right. Anyway. Point is, Elliott had felt like they were getting closer, whatever that meant when you’re trying to bond with the most mysterious person of the Games and probably the Outlands itself. But they had _let_ him, so Elliott had pushed his luck and asked them to dance today. For fun! 

And this turn of events? Elliott’s secretly having a party inside his head! 

“Elliott?” 

“Yup?”

“You seemed like you wanted to ask something.”

“Oh! Yup! Yup, just…” Elliott has to lean back a bit, look down at Bloodhound. They have their head tilted up towards him, a difference in height that Elliott is suddenly _extremely_ aware of (sorta cute, actually), and he can see himself in the reflection of their goggles. 

“Uh, doyouwannagooutonadatewithme?”

The words come out in a rush and c’mon, Elliott, nearly fifteen years of dating experience can’t fail you now. C’mon. He inhales, exhales, then tries again. “What I was tryin’ to say was - would you be, uh, interested in a date? You, me? No decoys, promise.”

Bloodhound doesn’t answer for the first second. Then they cock their head, canting it to the side in a way that Elliott’s labeled as fucking _adorable,_ and nod. “I would love to.”

_Score._

“Is… tonight good? Or is that too quick?”

“I am free tonight, so that is fine.” 

“Sweet,” Elliott says, and it’s extremely difficult _not_ to hear the way his smile grows. “Guess I’ll, uh, go get ready? Or somethin’ like that?”

He steps away from them then, untangling his arms from around their shoulders. They willingly let him go, hands falling to their sides, but he notices how their gaze lingers on him. 

“Elliott? May I… may I give you a gift before you go?”

“A gift?” Elliott raises an eyebrow, trying to act collected when his palms are actually sweating really, really, really badly. “Lemme take a shot- one of your knives?”

“No, not quite yet.” They seem… nervous, almost, if Elliott didn’t know them better. Does Bloodhound get nervous? Just from the ring, he never would’ve guessed. “Come here, please.”

“All righty,” Elliott says, shuffling a couple steps back into their space. 

“Close your eyes. Do not open them.”

“O-Okay.”

Even with his eyes closed, he swears that he hears them falter. “Please keep your eyes shut, Elliott. I am asking from the deepest part of my heart.”

“Gotcha.”

With them closed, he has to depend on his other senses instead. He feels something moving into his hands, warmth and - their hand. They move their hand over his own, settling worn fingers over his, and Elliott’s heart nearly bursts out of his chest. He tries to keep still as much as possible, hands twitching as he hears the unmistakable sound of something being unhooked. Unclasped, maybe? 

Then he feels it. Something skims across his cheek, fleeting, and it’s gone before Elliott can truly process it. Just as Bloodhound is readjusting, fitting _something-_ their mask, that makes sense- to their face, Elliott suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that they had kissed him. 

Not on the lips (not yet, haha), but on the cheek, and it’s enough for his stomach to erupt in butterflies like he’s an elementary-school boy instead of a thirty-year old. 

“You may look now if you wish.”

“Uh,” is all Elliott manages to say, something itching at the back of his neck. It feels like embarrassment. “Y-You sure there isn’t more where that came from?”

Smooth? He hopes so. 

Bloodhound gives him a simple look then, one that he can’t quite read. 

“I suppose we’ll have to wait until later tonight,” they say, a touch of warmth to their voice that he can pick up even with the modulator. They step away from him then, dipping their head down in a quiet goodbye as they turn and make their way towards the hull of the Mirage Voyage, where it would extend into a staircase and let them free. 

Just before they go, however, they pause at the entrance of the lobby. 

“Thank you for your lessons, Elliott,” they say, looking over their shoulder. “It was… enlightening. I will put it to good use in future events. And… _Sé þig í kvöld_. I will see you tonight.”

And just like that, they’re gone. Elliott looks after them, unable to stop his smile. He’s got a date to go to. 

\- 

“What- Mom! I know I haven’t dated for the past year but- yeah, you know them. Sorta. Kinda. You’ve definitely seen ‘em before. I’m taking them to that nice area downtown- you remember when Mateo threw up over the seat cushions? Yeah, yeah, no worries, I’m gonna make sure we won’t sit at that table. I’ve got it all planned out- I’ll tell you everything afterwards, cool? Yeah… yeah, I’m gonna have an outstuh-outstank-outh- a great night! Ooh, hang on, doorbell’s ringing. See you later, Ma.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> icelandic translations (the only one i'm unsure of is the last one im so sorry for using google translate)  
> takk - thank you / thanks  
> föðurbróðir - uncle  
> Sé þig í kvöld - see you tonight
> 
> i've worked on this piece for about two months so if it's disjointed in places with dialogue... im so sorry. i'm not happy with the ending / can't tell if it's ooc but FUCK IT i just wanted to write miragehound dancing. nblm and mlnb deserve love so i don't care if its ooc. wanna write them in LOVE. 
> 
> anw please tell me if there's any editing / grammar mistakes i missed, esp if i ever slipped up and used the wrong pronouns for bloodhound. im nonbinary myself so it was an accident but PLEASE tell me if i ever did. twitter @ is the same as ao3 @ miragehound deserves canon content thank u. as always comments r always appreciated :')


End file.
